


King Nothing

by SketchLockwood



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 12:46:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30055677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchLockwood/pseuds/SketchLockwood
Summary: Set just after the battle of St Albans and inspired by Metallica’s King Nothing.





	King Nothing

May 1455  
St Albans

They had won. Yes, they had won. 

Richard, Duke of York, regretted above all that this had come to bloodshed and that in the process of it all poor Henry, the mad fool, had been injured. 

Yet he could not help but delight in Somerset’s demise. 

Salisbury lounged now, half asleep in his chair. Warwick was with Edward. How Edward should not have been here. Cecily had pleaded with him not to take the thirteen year old to negotiate with the King. For just this reason. What if they had lost? What would have befallen young Edward then? 

He shook his head. That would not bear thinking about, not how they had won. Some weeks before the battle York had been visited by three men sent on behalf of the king to negotiate peace. Peace which held terms speaking of York’s entire surrender. Terms that were insulting. Terms he would never have accepted, all knew that. 

Those men had been unable to return with their message as he had kept them under close guard. They were no war prisoners, men of little significance when it came to war. Clergymen and scholars. Yet they had political influence. Whilst he had no intention to ransom or kill the men, he had needed to make a political statement. 

It was those three men that were now escorted into the room. Salisbury jumped awake as the door opened. “Ah, gentlemen.” York stood. He sighed, looking at their faces. Each man as annoyed as the next. “Please do not take this personally, you were...”

“Pawns to be used in your game?” York opened his mouth and closed it as John Tiptoft spoke. He knew this was the man who would cause him most problems. A man close to the king. A man who despite his lack of use in war held power, influence and wealth. He was no clergyman. No non-threat. He would be irked by the news of Henry’s injury. Who knew if he cared for Somerset? His pride however would not have recovered so easily at being held captive. 

Salisbury arched an eyebrow. Smirked. He would find whatever this exchange rather amusing, whatever it would become. 

“John, cousin...”

“You wanted to play the king.” John shrugged. “And you are doing. Congratulations.”

“I do not wish to play the king.” York was firm in his tone but not harsh, he thought. John however bit his lip in obvious irritation. “Speak freely.” York sighed. 

“Well, I have said my piece.”

“No, you haven’t.” 

John inhaled gently. “You’re right. I wanted to tell you, well done.”

“Well done?”

“You’ve played the game well and now you’re on top.” Tiptoft looked at him with eyes filled with something he couldn’t quite detect. Was it ice cold anger or a calm ocean? “But when it all crashes down, when your power crumbles and your crown of false kingship breaks?” He sighed. “Know I won’t be there to support you.” 

“I do not think I require your support or worry too much about your lack of it.” York shrugged. 

“I cannot bring men to your battles. Yet as I have influence in parliament, you may wish you had not said that.” 

It mattered little. He knew that. He could expel the man from parliament, should he cause too many issues. Yet he was protector to the king, not king himself and he did know that. 

“You’re dismissed.” York snapped, perhaps too harshly. 

Salisbury waited until they had left before he spoke. “I hope you don’t want to be king. If you wish that, and get it? I pray for you then. Be careful what you wish for, Richard, because otherwise you may regret it.” York was about to speak with Salisbury stood, leaving the room. 

Jesus...


End file.
